S hifra and I had crossed paths our entire lives, a charm or consequence of growing up in Winnipeg — all Jews seem to know each other. Our babas are great old friends; our mothers see each other at the grocery store every week. Everything with us seemed to click. I had attended a Jewish summer camp for the past eight summers of my life. I fell in love with camp — the kids, the songs, the stars. I became a camp counsellor for the first time in the summer of , when I was just

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For parents, sending a teen to summer camp must be a deal with the devil: You get a break from caring for your angsty kid, but in exchange, you live with the knowledge that little Madison might suck a dick this summer. Communal sleeping, shared showers, and minimal supervision — often at the hands of slightly older and even hornier youths — add up to a pressure cooker of hormones, humiliation, awkward fumbling, and memorable discoveries. Lauren was the alpha girl of my cabin. She was cool and tough and came from New York and had a Beastie Boys cassette.

The first time I had sex with a girl, we did it in a closet. No, seriously. She had a huge walk-in closet with a bed in it, and she would sit on that bed, light candles, and draw and write on the walls. It was like being inside her soul.